Hunter becomes Hunted
by Maryel
Summary: A friend shows up needing help with her own problems. Can Logan persuade her to accept the help, or is it already too late to change the rules of the game?
1. Chapter 1

Disclaimer: The X-Men belong to Marvel. The Hunt belongs to me, as does Sara. I've had her in my head for years, and written about her sporadically for my own amusement.

Author's Note: I'm jumping right into what I want to write about, so here's a bit of background. The complete back story doesn't interest me much because I'm not writing this as a fully plotted novel. If people are interested, that may change, just let me know and I'll write it into the upcoming chapters.

What Went Before: Sara Morgan. A Hunter. One of the interdimensional agents that showed up, every now and again, when things went to hell, and fixed things. Mutants with less than a passing familiarity with reality were instantly restored to sanity with a snap of her fingers and a prayer. Supervillians found their schemes unraveled. The Hunt did not seek attention to itself. Whenever possible they worked through the established teams and forces of whatever dimension they happened to be in. Who do they work for? Call it the God, the Goddess, the driving force behind the universe itself. Doesn't matter. Sometimes they are not sure of it themselves.

There is a place between the worlds that they call Home. Home is where you go to learn, to heal, to be with others of your kind. Sometimes a Hunter will not want to go Home when they are hurt. Sometimes you need friends that are outside of the Hunt.

Sara has claws, blades that emerge from beneath her fingernails whenever she wills and a healing factor. She's earned the nickname Cat for this, and for her personality traits. She has a past, doesn't everyone? But such things inevitably catch up with a person, and when it does there's a price to be paid.

…

No one was sure what had happened; from one moment to the next the woman they had known and fought beside for years was transformed from a laughing-eyed comrade to a bundle of massed nerves crouched under the table. Feet scuffled backwards as she pushed all the way back, ending tucked in the corner, under the table, pulled into a ball as tight as her body would allow.

For a minute nobody moved. They looked their questions at each other. Remy was the first to drop his head under the table, to assess the situation. He saw her head buried in her knees, he saw the white knuckles gripping them to herself tight enough to bruise. "Cherie?" Low, controlled. "Something wrong?"

There was no answer. She must have heard him. She gave no sign of it. He started to get down beside her. Wrong move.

Click. The claws came out. Sara may not have been responsive, but something in her surely was. Ten- no, eight shining razor sharp blades slid out from under her fingernails. The index and third finger blades on her right hand were broken off a third of the way down. The alien metal she had told them was unbreakable, snapped like kindling.

"Mon Dieu, cher, what happened?"


	2. Chapter 2

Author's Note: Sara is mine. Trader is mine. The Hunt is mine. Xmen and all their toys are property of others.

"Mon Dieu, cher, what happened?"

Again, no answer. After a moment he straightened in his chair. "Ideas?" he asked.

"Sara?" Jean carefully slid down on the floor. For all Sara responded, she might have saved herself the trouble. She extended a tendril of thought to brush the other woman's mind, just as one might pass in the hallway. "Sweetheart? Talk to me."

"Go away." Sara tried to retract her claws. The broken ones snagged somehow, were left jutting out. Her blood began to drip. Slowly, painfully, until it congealed.

_Not until you tell me what happened,_ Jean sent. _Not until I know you'll be alright._

_I just need some space. I'll be fine, Jean, I guess I'm just more tired from my last job than I thought._

_How badly are you hurt? Why didn't you go Home to get patched up first? Sara, coming here for pizza could have waited!_

_I just need some space. I just need... some help. Some time, y'know?_

Jean sighed. She got back up. "So you'll be locking yourself in the guest room for a while?" she said aloud.

There was a tight little affirmative from the floor. Remy glanced at Jean, she looked meaningfully at the kitchen counter, at Logan's shades which had been tossed aside earlier that day as he had left. Hadn't known Sara would show up with a pizza and a request for someone to help her eat. If anyone had known, it was certain he would have been there. They had been dancing around one another for the past year; flirting had slowly evolved into something else. There weren't many women who could match him in a fight.

"I'm gonna step out," he said.

"Why don't you pick up some chips while you're out? You still like those for breakfast, right, Sara?" No answer came. "So Remy's going to run to the store and I'll just be over at the stove making some tea, and you can mosey up to your usual guest room when you're ready, alright?" Jean announced.

It took five agonizing minutes with her back to the table before she heard Sara pry herself out of the corner, broken claws clicking on the floor. "If you want to see Hank about that, he should be home in an hour or so," she said quietly. "The university library closes at 8."


	3. Chapter 3

Author's Note: Sara is mine. Trader is mine. The Hunt is mine. Xmen and all their toys are property of others.

Sara lay on the bed, unmoving. She felt an hour drag by and didn't care. She should have cared. A Hunter was supposed to care, right? But right now she felt nothing. Nothing. Not even pain, which she would have welcomed.

She knew Logan was there. He came in without knocking. Without trying to be quiet. He knew it would only have set her off again, that her nerves were so hair-triggered they might as well have been on the outside of her skin. She could smell him smell her, assessing the damage.

"Blood. Yours and a lot of other. Smoke. Cheap cigars and metal."

"Give the man a prize." Sara turned away from him.

"I'm assumin' the shithead who declawed you is dead, because otherwise you would still be hunting him down."

"No." The whisper was full of more pain than he thought was possible, and he'd a pretty good grip of what pain was. "Leave it alone, Wolf."

"Ah, hell, darlin'." He crossed the room then. "Tell me."

"What part of 'leave it alone' are you not understanding?" Sara growled. She sat up and swung her legs down.

"The part where you came here with a pizza, Cat. If you wanted to crawl off and lick your wounds you would have left civilization behind."

"I came here instead. I don't why I came here. I should leave." Sara's hands came up, she hugged herself, rubbed her arms. She didn't wince as the ruined claws gouged her skin. Fresh blood. It healed, but too slowly. Logan didn't like it. He couldn't put his finger on it, but something had taken his Sara and hurt her. With a capital hurt. He knew the kind of damage it took to knock down a healing factor like hers to the point her own body couldn't repair these scratches. Knowledge did not make it better.

She was somewhere else, whispering things that he didn't think she knew she was saying. "Shouldn't have come here. Shouldn't have left the room. Duty. Honor. Blood." Her body was even tighter than it had been, if that were possible.

"Cat!" He snapped. Haunted eyes flew up to see him. They focused. She was back with him. "Sit down." Tried to be more gentle, hoped it would work. It didn't. "That's an order, soldier!" Old tone, the sort you use to a raw recruit thrown to the wolves of battle way before they're ready, the sort that would make even him respond automatically if he had been pressed beyond his limits of mental fatigue.

There came a point at which it could be a massive relief to follow orders. The point where your brain could flee to whatever foxhole would offer shelter. Dig in. Hide from the nightmares you've lived. Let your body tend itself until you can bear to return to it. Sara sat down. Her back was straight as an arrow, and her tension went down a bare notch. He could smell the fear on her. The aftermath of pain. He knew she wouldn't thank him for bringing anyone else in to see her like this, when she emerged from that mental blankness.

First things first. Assess the damage. He got a damp washcloth and some towels. Started at her feet. She didn't twitch when he found the strand of razorwire that was still poking out of her left calf, or when he saw the last yellow of a bruise the size of a cinderblock on her hip. He told her to stand and got her shirt off. She wasn't wearing a bra. There was dried blood under the shirt, there were other, worse smells, and he forced himself to focus on the task. It wasn't his friend. It wasn't his sometime lover. Just another comrade wounded in battle.

Sara whimpered, then. He had never seen her so... defeated. She wasn't just another wounded soldier. She was his. And she was still hurting.

"Come here." He pulled her into his arms. There was the hint of stiffness, then she went limp. No tears, just a shuddering that would not stop.

"I hoped you would be here," she whispered. "When I was there, before the blackness, I saw your face. You told me not to die. I didn't."


	4. Chapter 4

Disclaimer: Sara is mine. Trader is mine. The Hunt is mine. Xmen and all their toys are property of others.

_I'm dreaming through the pain and it's still there. Once I didn't think I'd ever be able to sleep while in pain. Now I know that it's the last defense of my mind. Given the right incentive, everyone will shut down. _

_What happened in that room? Why did Trader take my claws and leave me alive? He wanted all of them, he wanted me to suffer through it. Something stopped him. It wasn't me. I was almost dead by then._

_I wanted to be dead by then._

_I didn't call the Hunt to save me. I could have done it. The merest thought to lower the shields in my head and call for help, and someone would have come. Many would have come. I should have called for help when I knew I was going down. I didn't._

_Why did I wake up and wash my face and come here? Because Logan was here. Because he told me not to die, when I was feeling my heart fade away. _

_Do I have to wake up again?_

Sara stirred restlessly in her sleep. Logan watched her, feet propped on the windowsill. Woman liked to see the sunrise, he remembered, although it still made her foolish to admit it. He had watched her sleep for hours. When the shuddering had ceased she had fallen asleep, deeply enough that wrapping the blankets around her body had not woken her. He could smell her healing. He knew she was losing more of the scars caused by whateverthehell had happened.

Green eyes opened. Staring directly into his. He resisted the urge to look away. Unlike some, Sara was always instantly awake. No half-aware moments for her.

"Where are my clothes?" she asked. A reasonable question.

"I sent them down to be cleaned. Although I don't think the boots can be saved, darlin'. The razorwire sliced through the inside too badly. Care to tell me how it cut from the inside out?"

"No."

"Fair enough." Heels came down, he stood and stretched, back popping a little. "Breakfast?"

"Lots." Sara started to sit up, then paused. "I don't want to move."

"Don't want to move, or don't want company?"

She looked away for a moment, then looked back in challenge. "I'm not afraid."

"Sure. So why did Gumbo and Jeannie talk you out from under the table last night? Who cut you all to hell and tore your claws, and why are they still breathing? Answer that, and I'll start believin' you."

Green eyes blinked. She sat up then, and stretched her body out. Right hand was still sore. She stared at the jagged claws for a moment, then used her left hand to bend them back enough so that they'd slide back into place.

"Nice show, but I've seen it." He commented dryly. "You know I won't go until you start talking, so spill."

"Old Wolf," Sara tried to smile. It never reached her eyes. "Where do I begin? I got a message, part of a job that I thought was over, and when I showed up for the meet there were more than I expected. Someone's been playing fast and loose with the rules; I won't make the same mistake again."

"Where were your backup during all of this?"

"I didn't call them. Yes, it was stupid. I just..."

"Just what?"

"Just nothing. I don't want to talk about it. Can we go eat now?"

He was glad to hear something coming back in her voice. The spark of irritation had returned. She'd be alright now; he knew something was still off about all of this though. It concerned him. Never had Sara offered such a thin reason for anything. Logan could accept that she didn't want to call backup, but when things were as out of hand as they had gotten? There was more to the story. He wanted to know what it was.


	5. Chapter 5

Disclaimer: Sara is mine. Trader is mine. The Hunt is mine. Xmen and all their toys are property of others.

_I've been a Hunter now for a very long time. Longer than I generally like to think about. Slipping from one reality to the next keeps one young, or makes you older than time itself. I've rarely seen an old Hunter. We burn ourselves out and die young._

_I dreamed again. Dreams of anger. Of violence. I wandered a landscape littered with the ghosts of friends and enemies alike and there was no difference between them. I went back further, to a darker time, when I had been trapped without my memory in a high-tech world, and when I had woken from that nightmare it was with claws. The technology that could repair my broken blades was within my reach, if I went back there. It's been a week since Trader and I danced in that room. A week since I came here to heal and pray that the dreams would not follow._

_My own scream woke me. Again. I've never had a nightmare here. This was supposed to be a safe place for me, where the dreams never found me. I've witnessed a few of Logan's, and I know he found another puzzle in my acceptance of them. In extension, acceptance of him. Now, the hand over my mouth was proof that he had guessed at this secret._

"Bad dreams?" he commented, waiting for her heart to stop racing.

Sara pushed his hand away, gulping the air. Sweet. Cold. The window was open and she caught a faint scent on the air. "Can't you smell that?"

"Nothing that shouldn't be there," he told her. "What is it?"

"Pain."

"What?"

"Let me up." She noticed that his leg was thrown over hers. Pinning her down. The sheets under her back were soaked. "Now." He heard an edge of panic in her voice. As soon as Sara was free, she sprang up.

The scent was gone. She tried to catch it. Tried to remember the place she had learned to know it, without remembering the emotions that went with it.

"Sara. Enough of this messing around with words. Whatever's eating you, you need to deal. I've never seen you like this. I've seen you wade through bodies and not blink. I've seen you deal with things from hell that would have given me a second thought. You don't shake. Hell, when I have a bad night of it you'll sit up and match me drink for drink without saying a word and I know _damn_ well that you know why I'm doing it although you've never said it. You've been a wreck since you got here. That's a liability to everyone around you. So go and hit something if you need to, or drink it away, or go out and get something pierced. Anything except sit here and pretend that you're not hurting."

He wondered, occasionally, how old she really was. The others had taken bets on it. When asked, Sara always smiled and said "Old enough to not answer that," and that was fine. Tonight he mentally readjusted his estimate up. By about a thousand years.

Shell-shock was nothing new, but he'd never dreamed to see it on her face before. Sacrilege. That's what it was. As much as seeing the stress finally get to the lighter-hearted of the team. No fair. Not fair at all; he'd seen this gaze before. Reflected in a bottle of whiskey sitting on the table next to him. Shattered into a thousand pieces...

Sara had broken the window. Driven her hand right through it. She watched her skin heal around the glass, then jerked the arm back into the room so she could rip it twice. Again, it healed.

"So that's out," she commented. "I imagine piercing would end the same way. So what's left, drunk?"

"Yeah."

"There's some in the closet."

Logan padded over. There was a case of rum on the floor. He didn't recognize the label.

"I acquired a taste for this stuff," she seemed embarrassed. "I mean, it's sort of breaking the rules but not really, since you guys have so much other alien tech around here."

"Rum, as technology?"

"Advanced medicine." Sara broke the seal on one bottle and tipped it up. She drank. And drank. And drank. Then she ignored his raised eyebrow.

"You want to go a bit easier, or are you trying to pass out to avoid the question?" he asked.

"It'll take more than that, tonight," she frowned at the bottle. "Bad dreams. Sure. But maybe I'm just waiting for the rest of our little party to show up."

The door swung open enough for a shadow to flow through. "Not wantin' to interrupt, cher. Heard you doing some redecorating-" Remy nodded at the window, "just making sure that ever'thing was alright."

"That's a matter of opinion. The old wolf here," Sara waved her bottle at Logan, "thinks that I'm running from something. What do you think?"

"Well, now, if you ask Remy, he thinks there's something going on that you're not sharing. Women have secrets, non?"

"Everybody has secrets. The only ones I know who don't have a secret are out of control telempaths."

"That's your business," Remy said. "But now you've brought your secrets here, and it's only fair that you give warning if your business is about to become our business."

"Since when has my business ever become your business?"

"You want that in order of time or body count?" Logan asked.

Sara took another long pull at her bottle.

"Truth or dare?" Remy suggested. "Poker?"

"I'm out of luck, guys," she said. "And I'm not stupid enough to play you when I don't want to lose."

"Are you implying that Remy's a cheat?"

"Let's just say I'm implying that you wouldn't cheat if you were really playing a game. Manipulating women, that's a whole other game and has nothing to do with poker."

"You wound me!"

Sara did smile then. It was a sad one. She shivered.

"Want to hear a story, really? Want to hear what happened to me last week? It was a lifetime ago."

"Got the feeling nobody here wants to hear it. I do know that you need to tell it." Logan crossed his arms.

"So sit back and get comfy. I'll give you a bedtime story. Not like I'll sleep again real soon anyway."


	6. Chapter 6

Disclaimer: Sara is mine. Trader is mine. The Hunt is mine. Xmen and all their toys are property of others.

_I close my eyes but I can see  
The madness touched my sanity  
I'll be you and you'll be me  
Take me home or set me free_

_Will you wait for me  
Or will you leave me now  
To return again  
I know you're coming back  
But I'll never know when_

_Show me more than I'll ever see  
Give me more than I'll ever need  
Let me go and set me free _

-Spirits in the Wind, Leatherwolf

Tired. She was tired. For a few minutes that was all she could think of. How old was she, really?

_Twelve times 3, carry the 7, minus 4... or should I be adding that four? I don't even remember my birthday. I think it was in winter._

_No. That was my second birth. When I woke up freezing in the snow, dragged out on the ice to die with the rest of the garbage. Trader was there then, too._

"Give me a deck," she told Remy. He pulled one out and handed it to her. She shuffled it. Pulled one out. When they had entered her hands they were a completely normal deck. Now they were transformed into picture postcards of a world neither he or Logan had ever seen.

"This is the Bizarre," Sara said. "The free market that lays under all others. If it can be bought or sold, you can find it here. This is where I traded part of my memory for claws."

She dealt another card. A neat white building set amongst pristine landscaping. "This is the clinic I picked. They do good work. I figured I'd go in, pay my bill, and leave like a hundred satisfied clients before me."

The picture of a dagger piercing a circuit board followed.

"Everything has a price. I never found out what mine was. Somebody wanted a Hunter. They were not particular how it happened, but very specific instructions resulted."

Sara stopped and took another swig from the bottle.

"What did they want, a weapon?" Logan asked.

"No." Sara almost smiled. "They wanted pain."

"Not your fault, cher," Remy said. "A lot of sick bastards out there. You know that."

"When you've been ripped apart and reassembled for a whim, that's not a comfort. When the scars stop healing, it loses meaning. No. I was traded around for a while among a very select clientele. Then Trader bought me."

She lifted her bottle, was a bit surprised to find it empty. She grabbed another from the case.

"So there I was, and there he was, and he made me a deal. He'd find a way to return me to the Hunt, to reconnect me to the people who thought I was dead, and in return I'd owe him three favors. Like wishes, kinda."

"You're telling us that you walked into this guy's place and let him nearly kill you?" Logan's voice was curiously empty. Neither Sara or Remy had ever heard him sound like that before.

"Yes." Sara did smile. It wasn't from joy. It was bitter, resigned. "And someday I'll do it again."

"How many times do you owe him?"

"I don't." She shook her head. "I used that up already. This is different. I can't tell you why. Just let it go."


	7. Chapter 7

Disclaimer: Sara is mine. Trader is mine. The Hunt is mine. Xmen and all their toys are property of others.

If you're following, please feel free to review...

..................

_I lied to them. I sat there in the dark and drew cards and lied. I could have told them the truth. I was afraid to see the pity in their eyes._

_I'd rather see their scorn._

Sara stood in the garden, under a noon sun. There wasn't a cloud for miles in either direction. She did not move. The thoughts chased themselves around her head. It could have been midnight for all she noticed.

Logan watched her. He knew she was lying; what he knew that she did not was that she had started talking in her sleep, and the things he heard were at odds with what she had heard. Yeah, maybe she had gotten half-killed willingly, but there was more to the story.

"Cat." He saw her flinch. That was new.

_I lied to him. He knows I lied to him. No. How could he know? He would have called me on it before now. _

"Wolf."

"You ready to tell me what's going on yet?"

_He knows. God in heaven, he knows I lied. What am I going to do? And yet, was it really a lie? Could I tell myself it was only part of the truth, and make it not a lie?_

"Would it make a difference?"

"You tell me. A letter came for you. You've never had mail here before. Usually your messages come more... directly."

He held out an envelope. She turned, opened her eyes. Thousand-yard stare. The blood had fled her cheeks. For a split instant, he thought she'd faint. Sara took the letter and broke the seal. The message was brief. One sentence, and the signature.

Which outlasts the other, the mountains or the sea?

Trader

Sara didn't know she was crying until tears fell on the paper. Logan wrapped her in his arms. She shook. She wept. She huddled there like he was the only thing that was real in the universe. Broken, again, by a single piece of paper. She heard the voices in the dark, as she crawled into a corner of her dark prision. Sara was back in the House of Pain. A hundred years of torment flooded back. Memory was crueler than any other master she had known. She was laying in the streets, broken. She was crawling through the dark, bleeding. She was kneeling on the dirt in the grounds of what she had foolishly thought was a safe haven, and Sara was more afraid of opening her eyes than she was of what waited in the depths of her memory.


	8. Chapter 8

Disclaimer: Sara is mine. Trader is mine. The Hunt is mine. Xmen and all their toys are property of others.

Author Note: I got a little turned around in my own plotting and threw a curve. Memory is an awfully tricky thing, isn't it? Never trust someone's memory if they're trying to lie to themselves. It can take you to unexpected places. If you're following, please feel free to review...

.

.

....Several years ago....

.

"Which lasts longer, mountains or sea?" They sat in her room. A bag of candy from one friend to another, marking time in an otherwise timeless place. Sara was smiling. Happy.

"Mountains," she said. "So much mass, so much stone. Depending on the stone, though, the sea just washes up around it for ages and ages. The mountain will wear away eventually, but the sea will move on and carve it's own paths through the landscape just as fast. Sooner or later there is neither."

"I say the sea. There will always be a sea, somewhere."

"Mountains." Sara threw a candy at him. Trader laughed and caught it in one hand.

"Silly goose," he said.

"Takes one to know one," she stuck her tongue out. "I've known you too long, I know better than to answer these sorts of questions."

"So why do you?"

"Because you're one of my closest friends. I've known since, heavens, since I was raising that army on Rainestan, and you were running weapons back and forth. I still owe you one for coming through at the end, right?"

"Nah. What's a little thing like that between friends?"

She shrugged. "I'm going in for the surgery tomorrow."

"Cat, I wish you would have let me run the deal for you. You don't know some of the things these surgeons could pull, if they find a better price..."

"I'll be fine. Stop your fussing."

"Sure thing, but I'll be expecting to see you when it's over. Don't keep me waiting, or I'll come after you."

.

That was an eternity ago.

.

Time stood still. There was the pain. The doctors, needles, and bright lights. There were the claws, as promised. There was more pain. She was trapped in a nightmare she couldn't quite remember and couldn't escape. Reflexes were too slow, except when she woke in a sandy ring to face enemies that went for her throat. Those wakings were met with anger. With a clean, clear rage and razor sharp reflexes. Reflexes as sharp as the claws that made her namesake fitting. When the fight ended, blood dripping from her claws and a lifeless body at her feet, the dark descended again.

.

There was more pain. More nightmares. More darkness.

.

Sometimes she woke up in a bed with men and women she did not remember either. Sometimes there was blood. Every now and again it was someone else's blood.

Her vision sheathed in red.

.

Then an end to the pain. A sudden end to the physical pain, and then the nightmares ended. She woke in a new place, with sunlight and the wind blowing sea air into the room. Her body was clean. When she opened her eyes she saw Trader sitting by her bed.

"I said I'd find you," he said. She turned her face to the wall.

"You should have let me die," she said.

.

Another eternity, though it really wasn't so long. Mental scars took longer to heal, she spent hours at a time sitting and staring at the sea. Then came the first time she was recalled to the House of Pain.

"Thought you'd run away, kitten?" someone laughed. She couldn't see his face. All she wanted was more pain. Somehow she craved it now. Wanted to be in the arena, wanted to see the red on her skin and smell it in her hair.

Pain smelled like rust. It tasted like sugar.

Again, Trader brought her out and took her to live by the sea. She came back more slowly that time. He made arrangements and she went Home for a while, rejoined the Hunt, and only sometimes remembered the blood. But one day it was too much and she cried, and Trader made her a deal. He would broker the deal for her to visit the House of Pain, on occasion, and she would let him call the shots. He would own the contract, by extension Sara, and did not let her die.

Even when she sat in the cellar, afterwards, huddled around her body still craving the pain and rage, he did not let her die. She lashed out at him with words and screams, and he did not let her die. She tried to cut her hands off at the wrist, and he broke her claws trying to stop her.

_._

_Which lasts longer, the Mountains or the Sea?_

_I'll keep going there, and he'll keep letting me, and we'll dance this out forever. It's not going to stop until I'm dead, _she thought.

.

The first Logan knew of her intentions was when her claws slid out and rammed through her elbows while she lay in his arms.

"What the hell?" he exclaimed, shaking her. "Sara! Open your eyes, Sara!" She didn't cry, or make a noise, just started ripping her fingers down. He flipped her down, laying half on top of her, and screamed for help.

It took the combined efforts of Jean, Storm, Remy, and Logan to get her down to Hank, and even then she didn't stop until she was laying under four layers of restraints with a chemical sedative running through her veins. They weren't sure which was scarier- her single-minded drive to destruct or the total lack of response to them while she was doing it.


End file.
